Kill the Messenger
by streco
Summary: Roger decides Mimi's better off without him... but then they both realize they can't live without each other. Songfic. Oneshot, MimiRoger, MarkRoger friendship.


Kill the Messenger

_Oh, my God, this hurts like hell  
__I had that dream again where  
__I was lost for good in outer space_

"She's better off without me, she's better off without me, she's better off without me..."

Roger continued to repeat the five-letter phrase over and over again, trying to carve it into his brain where it'd never uplift. It was early in the morning, maybe three, somewhere around there, and he'd awoken with the sick feeling in his stomach again. He'd rushed into the bathroom and was now clutching the sides of the sink mercilessly, holding on tight and trying to calm himself down. It wasn't anger, or fear—it was agony.

When you become so attached to someone for so long, and then suddenly you push them away with their better health in mind, it was painful. Roger was being very unselfish, trying to help out Mimi, but now, after it was said and done, he wanted _to _be selfish, he wanted her back, and he didn't care what the outcome was.

He and Mimi had had an argument. Yesterday, around noontime. Roger still wasn't completely crystal on what it had been about, but eventually it had gotten to how Roger was a bad influence for Mimi, and how she'd be better off without him. She was now completely clean, and she credited him that, but he credited _Benny_, who'd essentially given her the few months of rehab that had helped incredibly in the long run.

Roger'd had his rocker days, and Mimi was still supposed to be in hers. She was supposed to have fun, be wild and crazy, so when she was older she'd be wise. Roger was set on spending more time in the loft, getting his shit in order with the AIDS and all, and though Mimi was infected as well, she deserved to be able to have fun, too, no?

_Tell me, doctor, how to shake  
__A waking nightmare that is only worse  
__When I am sleeping_

"I'm not taking that away from you," Roger's voice came down from a scream, and it was a dull growl. "Mimi, I'm holding you _down_. Once you can _legally _drink, if you're unhappy, come back to me, and I won't feel guilty anymore. Mimi, you're _nineteen_. You're supposed to be out, having fun. As long as you're not doing drugs, I want you to have _fun_. I rarely leave this building, and would have it no other way. I'm scarred, Meems, and I don't want you to be scarred _because _of me."

Mimi, who'd been facing the other way, frozen, turned around to face him, her face red, eyes teary. "Roger! I hear what you're saying, but I don't _care! _I don't _want _to have fun with anyone else! I want to be with _you_, and that's _it! _I'll _teach _you how to come out of the house, it's _nice _outside! And don't tell me you don't like it," she grumbled, eyes narrowing. "Because I _know_ you do."

Throwing his hands up in the air, Roger gritted his teeth and walked over to Mimi, close to her, and the fear he saw in Mimi's eyes alarmed him. "Look," he whispered, "look... when I'm angry, you get scared. I... I don't want to do that to you, Meems," his eyes darted to the floor, and when he looked back up, he searched her face. Fear, pain, helplessness. "I don't want you to be afraid of me, I want you to find someone who doesn't scare you."

"You're scaring me because you're saying you're leaving," she replied softly, and Roger diverted her eyes once again.

"I'm sorry, Mimi... I can't do this to you," he placed a small kiss on her cheek, and then retreated into his bedroom.

_Kill the messenger, I swear it's not me  
__It's just someone I used to know_

Roger didn't understand that Mimi had so many things going for her—if she'd get out of that damn club and maybe turn her life around, she could do so many things. With her attitude and her lovable personality, she really wasn't that dumb of a girl. Maybe if she went to night school, finish up her education, maybe even hit college, she could do wonders with her life. Roger already destroyed that, what with barely graduating high school with his class, and shunning away from college to do drugs and join a band that ultimately went nowhere.

But, hey, what could he do about it now? The last thing on his mind was going back to school—all he wanted to do was music, though his voice was going to go with the smoking and his body would eventually give up a few years into the disease. Mimi'd _just _conjured AIDS—Roger'd had it for a while longer, now, he could feel it beginning to set in. He didn't want to tie Mimi down, didn't want her to be lost when he was gone.

Why couldn't she see what she could do? Why couldn't she see what a wonderful person she really was? People were oblivious to their own talents, he decided, but it was so blatant to every one of their friends that it must be at least a bit visible for her.

_And get to church, cause you're a good girl  
__And I never told you that _

The decision he made was incredibly difficult; when he realized that she'd be better off without him. There was no denying that he loved Mimi with his entire heart, maybe even more than he'd ever loved April, which was why he was letting her go. He loved her too much to watch her suffer with being with him. And though he was making her suffer with pushing her away, in the long run, he was assisting her in becoming a better person.

And now, as he was gripping the sides of the sink, trying not to ram his head into the mirror, gasping for breath, silently sobbing, he knew it was for the better, though it felt like he was going to die because of it.

His sleep had been haunted anyway, her face appeared everywhere. He'd dreamt that he'd married her, and by the time they'd made it to their honeymoon destination, he'd awoken, smiling sweetly, happy that he had Mimi, and then realizing that he'd broken up with her the previous day, which made him sick to his stomach and prompted him to run to the bathroom.

Sweat was pouring down his forehead, his heart was throbbing, and his hands were cramping from holding on to the sink so viciously. He released the sink and turned the faucet on, cupping cold water in his hands and then splashing it on his face. The pipes above him began to roar dully, which made him cringe—Mark would be up in a matter of minutes. The man was a light sleeper, and every time someone made a midnight pilgrimage to the bathroom, he would awaken.

_And all I need from you could be the thing  
__That leaves us both up here forever_

Instead of returning to his bedroom, he proceeded to the kitchen, sitting on the window seat above the city. A calming place for him, he watched as even at three people walked the streets of Alphabet City. A drizzle had began, and Roger tried to smile—Mimi always loved the rain, always insisted upon his dancing in it. There was an example: she wanted him to dance with her, but he was too afraid he'd catch something, and that would be the end of him.

He worried for her as well, but though she was early into the disease, he didn't fear as much, so, instead, he'd take a coat and stand on the balcony as she'd dance in the filthy streets, wearing next to nothing, and yet, looking so beautiful, so young, so free, as she pirouetted in puddles and simply flew about, glowing.

Throwing his head back, he'd smile and laugh, adoring her from a distance, wishing he could join her. If she'd find another man who could join her in having fun, she'd be happier, and that was final. He hated how he had to stand on the sidelines and watch, and he hated her being disappointed.

Now, as he watched raindrops drip from the window he sat upon the sill of, tears slid down his cheeks, dreaming of a perfect world that he'd never see.

_I'm gonna send a little rain your way  
__I'm gonna send a little rain..._

There were footsteps behind him, and then a dim ghost light was flicked on in the corner of the room, something Mark had insisted upon because of his easy awakenings. "Roger?" he asked sleepily, "What are you doing awake? You never wake up to go to the bathroom at night."

Roger didn't turn to look at him—he didn't trust the look on his face or the tears in his eyes—and so he just shrugged his shoulders and continued to look out the window. "A lot on my mind," he said in even tones, and he was happy with the way it sounded.

"...Roger?" Mark's voice inquired, and he advanced on the sitting man on the other side of the room. "Is everything okay?"

Roger nodded, but more tears sprang to his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," but that time, his voice wasn't as even as he'd planned—it reflected his feelings entirely, and Mark gasped softly and sat across from him on the sill.

"Roger? Why are you crying?" his voice was frantic, and Roger understood why—he didn't commonly cry, so this was a big thing. "Roger? Tell me what's wrong."

_It's not so easy, caving in  
__I walked by your apartment twice today  
__While you were gone at work_

He shook his head and looked down, the tears falling on his socks. "Mimi and I had an argument today," he explained softly, "when you were out filming. I realized that... I've been holding her down too long. She's a young girl, Mark, and she deserves so much more than me. I love her, a lot, and you know that, but I don't want to keep her down with me. Maybe when she's older, and she comes back, if I'm still alive, but first, I want her to live her life."

His voice had grown exceedingly softer as he'd finished the speech, but he was sure Mark had heard it all, because he wrapped his arms around Roger. "Roger, she didn't want to leave you, did she?"

"No," Roger answered.

"Then why push her away? You know she's happy with you, and you're going to make her feel worse if you break her heart. Roger, you're making a mistake, and you need to get her back."

"Mark, I _can't! _I can't _stand _seeing her like this! She needs someone who will dance in the rain with her!"

"Roger, she won't be _happy _with someone who can. She needs someone who has AIDS as well—you know Mimi, she'd always be too afraid to do anything around them, she'd think she was going to infect them. And if she did, God only knows what she'd do. She loves you, Roger, and you love her back—she's opened so many doors for you, so I suggest you try and get her back, if it's not too late."

Mark had a funny way of talking incredibly amounts of sense into people, but Roger, being the stubborn guy that he was, shook his head and pulled away from his best friend. "I'm sorry, Mark, I can't do this..." and he walked into his bedroom and went back to sleep.

_And all the colors got so down  
__It's not as cold out here, but come quick  
__I am losing feeling_

The next morning, when he woke up, he sulked the entire day, but did think about what Mark had said. He thought about talking to Mimi about the whole ordeal—how she really felt, and maybe how she felt about having an HIV-negative partner.

The first time he walked by her door, he thought about knocking, but instead he walked by it, and then turned around, retreating back into the loft.

He sort of felt like Mark, in a way. He felt detached, unreal, floating through a nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. The worst thing was that he'd brought it upon him, it was his own fault that he was feeling this way, achy and broken. Sighing, he waited longer, deliberating on what he'd say when he _did _talk to her.

The second time he walked by the door, he _did _knock, and stood, shifting from foot to foot, trying to decide what to say. Nobody answered. He knocked again, and again. "Mimi, I _know _you're in there!" he shouted at the door, but nobody responded. When he was surprised that the door wasn't locked, he climbed back up to the loft, out onto the balcony, and then down the steps, knocking on her window before prying it open, as he'd done many times before.

He entered her apartment, looking around at everything. He entered her room section, and eyed the windowsill—no needle, no drugs. A smile played on his lips and then was gone. He checked the clock—four PM, and then realized that she was working, and sighed deeply. "I'm trying, Mimi," he said to the empty room, and the echo of his own voice was pitiful.

When he entered her kitchen, he found a piece of paper and a pen and scribbled on it. _Meems, came to talk to you—when you get back from work, knock on my door. I want to talk to you. If you don't want to talk... that's okay, but I think we should... I'm sorry. Roger._

With that, he left the apartment and returned to his own apartment.

_I'm gonna send a little rain to pour down on you  
__Rain that makes the flowers bloom_

It was maybe two in the morning when there was a light knock on the door.

The only reason Roger heard it was because he'd been expecting it, waiting for it. It was so soft that _Mark _wouldn't even wake up because of it, and he tiptoed out of bed, past Mark's door, and into the kitchen, opening the door and staring at the petite woman in front of him. "Mimi," he breathed, and his heart filled with love, along with intense pain with it.

"Roger," she replied, but her voice was emotionless.

"...come in, sit down. I... I just want to talk to you..."

She didn't respond to that; she followed him into the kitchen, where she sat upon a barstool in front of the island. He made them both a cup of coffee, his black and hers with cream and extra sugar, and they sat in silence for a while.

It was clear to him that Mimi was hurt by what he'd done. Her make up was done sloppily, her cheeks were red and tear-stained. She probably hadn't gotten many tips tonight because of her appearance, and he would've apologized for it if it wouldn't come off incredibly rude, or at least _he _thought so.

_Rain to leave you all alone  
__That keeps eyelashes falling and wishes washed away_

"Mimi... I'm sorry," he exhaled, and avoided making eye contact. "I love you, I love you so much, you know I do—but, Meems, I can't hold you down any more. You have so much more you can do, and I don't want to be the lazy asshole that prevents you from doing so. You have to understand that I love you with all of my heart, but I don't want to watch you dance in the rain any longer, I want to watch you be happy and dance with someone _else_."

"Roger, I'd rather have you watch me than have someone else dance with me," she answered, and her eyes read honesty.

Roger swallowed hard, and his heart suddenly felt a hundred times stronger. "God, I miss you so much," his voice was barely audible.

"I miss you too," she smiled, and leant forward, and gave him a sweet kiss on the lips.

"Mimi, are you _sure? _I'll go through hell, as long as you're happy—I just want to see you happy."

"Well, then, take me back," she challenged.

"Are you _sure?_"

"Are you an _idiot?_"

Shocked by the sudden teasing insult, Roger let out a loud laugh, not caring if Mark woke up. "I love you," he said to her, and leant forward again, whispering in her ear. "Will you join me once again in eternal partnership?"

"Yes, I will," she smiled, and gave him a kiss.

_I'm gonna send a little rain your way_

**A/N:** So I'm on a songfic spree right now, expect a lot of them from me soon. I just downloaded a _ton _of new bands, and so I've got a lot more music to work with.

I hate this fic. I find it terribly written, but, hey, I'm gonna post it anyway. This is called "Kill the Messenger" by Jack's Mannequin, a song that has a lot of repeated choruses, which I took out. It's a pretty song, though. And I thought it fit very very well with this situation.

NO FLAMES... please! I beg of you!

–Steph.


End file.
